Kiss Me, Kill Me
by smellslikecorruption
Summary: Four times their relationship could have changed in S4, but didn't.


Prompt: S4 Spuffy

AN: This is a fic made up of four vignettes. Four different moments that could have happened but never did.

_You win a while and then it's done_

She grabs him by the hand, twists off the ring and doesn't let go. He yells and struggles and shouts at her, but she maintains her grip, watching as he burns.

He takes it well. He doesn't scream, only yells at her, insisting that if she doesn't let him go, they'll both go up in flames. It's a chance she finds herself willing to take. Fire doesn't really have the same instantly deadly affect on her anyway.

Two minutes tops and it's all over. All that remained of her last, most annoying loose end from high school was some ash on her clothes and some pain on her skin. Because in the end, she did get a little burned. But it's only on her hands. He burned fast, too fast to ignite her, but long enough that the flames licked at her skin. But eventually the burns fade into nothing more but another battle scar.

_Hold on to the basics, but we can change all the tactics_

She was going to punch him. Really she was. She wanted to punch him, kick him, scratch at him, _tear him apart_. And she was fully intending to do so; right up until the moment she was kissing him instead.

It took her a moment to figure out what was even happening at first, because damn if it didn't still feel like they were fighting. She'd never kissed like this. Like it was a competition. Her teeth pulling at his lips, her fingers twisting in his hair, she was still desperately trying to hurt him, desperately trying to _win_.

His tongue was wet and heavy, pushing past her lips, running along the backs of her teeth. Her legs felt shaky, like she'd been fighting hard for hours, and she sank down into his lap. She yanked her mouth away from his, frantically seeking oxygen, and instead of stopping the madness, she let his lips travel down the side of her neck.

"Fuck." He exhaled against her throat, and something in the raspy shakiness of his voice sent heat splintering through her.

"Fuck, Slayer, untie me." He panted into the hollow spot where her neck met her shoulder.

She should get up. She should stop whatever craziness was causing her to writhe around on his lap. She should get the stake out of her bag and ram it through his heart, if only to insure that no one would ever, ever find out about this little indiscretion.

She untied him.

Before he could say anything, she kissed him again.

He worked his arms free from the ropes and they flew to her hips. The feel of his hands, wide and pulling her closer, and his thumbs stroking circles on the soft skin on her hip bones right above her jeans, did things to her that she'd really rather not dwell on.

He nipped at her bottom lip, and pinched her waist, and she jerked so hard the chair tumbled backward, taking them with it.

He rolled them off the chair, pinning her to the floor with the length of his body. One of his hands fisted into her hair, and the other was caught underneath them, between her shirt and her back.

Her own hands, completely of their own volition, toyed with the hem of his black t-shirt, and slid up his bare back.

He shifted again, arching against her fingernails, and suddenly she could _feel_ him. Hard and pressing between her legs, pushing against the inseam of her jeans.

She made gasped and ground her hips into his. He grinned into her mouth.

"Shut up Spike."

He just chuckled and, yanked on the hair wrapped around his fingers, and holygoodgoddamn, there was one kink she'd never been _remotely_ aware existed.

He was pressing sloppy kisses into her collarbone, and his fingers were working the button on her pants free when she heard a floorboard creak.

"Oh my God, get off me, get off me! Giles is coming!" She hissed.

For one, terrifying, second, she thought he wasn't going to move. Then he kissed her hard and rolled to the side, where he lay panting.

"Buffy?" Giles was holding to the wall and feeling his way into the living room.

"I'm h-here."

He squinted around. "What on earth are you doing on the floor?"

"Uh, Spike tried to run again, so I um, I tackled him."

She heard a snort from beside her and made the mistake of looking. Spike was propped up on his elbows, still breathing hard, his hair a mess from where she'd fisted her hands into it. And she was pretty sure he was still hard.

He curled his tongue around his teeth and winked at her.

Whatever it was they'd started here, it was bad. Bad and wrong, and quite possibly illegal.

And she still really wanted to hit him. Or have sex with him. Or both.

She squeezed her eyes shut and flopped back down on the floor. No way would this end well.

_Take a deep breath, suck the water in my chest, cross my fingers and hope for the best_

The door to his crypt slammed open, letting a patch of sunlight spill in. Spike didn't even look up from TV. Damned midget never seemed to knock. Marching all over town like he owned the place. Which he might, actually, but that was beside the point.

When, instead of Jonathan spewing demands, Spike heard a female voice calling his name, he finally looked up.

Well, well. The Slayer was standing in his doorway. There was a rare sight. She looked pissed, her hands on her hips, her face screwed up in annoyance. Although, for the life of him, he couldn't work out what it was he was supposed to have done. Or why she was here, all alone.

"What's a little thing like you doing in a place like this?"

She glared. As much as he longed to kill her, Spike was…amused by Buffy. Most days he was pretty sure she'd be one hell of an opponent, if not for Lord Jonathan always getting in the way and fighting everyone's battles. But as it stood, he could never quite find the energy to plot against her. Once Jonathan was out of the way of course, it would be open season on the Slayer.

But for now, she was good for entertainment.

"I need your help."

Of all the things she might have said, that was the one he was expecting the least.

He scoffed. "Excuse me?"

She looked at him steadily. "I need your help. Come on Spike, we've teamed up before."

"Yeah, but that was to save the world. Is the world in danger? Has the tiniest superhero in the world finally gone to meet his maker?" Jonathan dead. Now there was a nice thought.

Unfortunately, Buffy was shaking her head. "No, he's fine."

"Then get him to help you do what ever it is you need doing."

She swallowed nervously. "I can't"

"And why not?"

She dropped eye contact. "Because he's the one I'm investigating."

Well knock him over with a feather. This _was_ a surprise. "Oh-ho. Dissention in the ranks?"

She bristled. "We're not an _army_, Spike."

"Whatever. So what's the king done?"

She crossed the room and leaned on the tomb, making sure to leave the swath of sunlight in between them. "Nothing really. Just, remember those monster attacks a few weeks ago?"

Of course he remembered. She'd shoved him up against a crypt and interrogated him. He'd actually been rather proud. She was fun when she was feisty.

"Yeah. Those still going on?"

"No. They've stopped. Jonathan said he killed it. But he's seemed sort of off ever since, and he has a tattoo that looks just like the mark on the creature, and lately there have been some pretty weird noises coming from his basement."

"Noises in the basement. You sure he doesn't just have a sex dungeon down there?"

She looked appalled. "Gross, Spike!"

He just laughed. "That doesn't seem all that odd to me. You can Nancy Drew all you like, but I pass."

"What? Why? You hate Jonathan as much as-"

She cut herself off, looking stricken, but she didn't need to finish her sentence or him to get the message.

"I don't like you either, and I don't really fancy spending time with you playing detective."

Huh. That had seemed to be the wrong answer. She was across the room, pinning him to the wall before he had time to react. Her ridiculously tiny hands were like steel bands on his arms.

"Let me clarify something." Her voice was uncharacteristically steely. "I'm not actually asking for your help. I'm saying you're going to help me."

"And if I don't?"

Her grip tightened. He was almost certainly going to have bruises there tomorrow. "I may not be as strong as Jonathan, but I'm a hell of a lot stronger than a chipped vampire who can't fight."

Her eyes were filled with fire, and her face was fixed with iron determination, and Spike was suddenly hit with a nearly overwhelming desire to kiss her.

"Are we clear?"

It was just because she was so close, and so fiery, and because he hadn't had sex in months. That had to be it. The alternative was just too terrible.

"Yeah, we're clear, I'll help you. Now get the hell out of my crypt."

She stared at him for a long moment, her continued proximity making him dizzy.

"I'll meet you back here after dark."

"Fine."

She left and he slid down the wall, his head in his hands.

"No, no, no, no, no."

_The sky above us shoots to kill_

She shouldn't care. She really shouldn't. After all, she'd been threatening to do it herself for years. And yet she felt something. It wasn't grief, it wasn't even sadness. It was more akin to that dropped out feeling she got in her stomach, back in high school, when she recognized a name in the obituaries. That strange feeling that came with being able to attach a face and some personal information to a name, even if she hadn't known them well enough to mourn.

She tries not to think about who killed him. If it was man or demon. She doesn't care that he's dust, she honestly doesn't, but killing something that can't fight back has never sat well with her.

It was probably a demon anyway. The one and only time she'd caught a glimpse of him during the battle, he'd been fighting demons. For fun and possibly as an attempt to get back into her good(ish) graces, but still. He'd been helping.

She doesn't tell anyone, and by July she's over it.


End file.
